Published: Wednesday, November 25, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

To those of you who were in a coma over this last weekend, it is my misfortune to have to inform you that “New Moon,” the latest film in the “Twilight” series, was released on Friday.

Before I begin, I must inform you that despite all evidence to the contrary, I am not a hater. As a fellow writer of fiction, I am forced to respect the feat that Stephanie Meyer has accomplished, in terms of success with her audience and crafting an engaging story. At the risk of my Man Card spontaneously combusting, I will admit that I read the first book. I will also admit that it wasn’t all that bad.

However. There are several things that must be addressed. First of all, there is the sparkliness.

What was Meyer thinking? A story about vampires…that sparkle? Vampires… do not… sparkle! They guzzle the platelets of the living! They rise from the grave in the dead of night to stalk hapless innocents, may or may not transform into bats, have a deadly fear of crucifixes and are creatures of nightmare. Sunlight kills them. It burns their flesh like tissue paper under a blowtorch.

Vampires don’t fear the sun because it might expose them as human disco balls; neither do they fear it because it makes them supernaturally attractive to teenage girls.

They fear it because it will ravage their bodies and leave them looking like that hamburger that Uncle Fred forgot to take off the barbecue on the 4th of July. They most definitely… do not… sparkle.

Neither, dear readers, can they have children. Those of you who haven’t read all the books (or surfed Wikipedia like me) may not know that in the fourth volume, Bella (the girl) marries Edward (the vampire) and they have a child.

There are a few things that all vampires must be in order to be called vampires. Among these things are the need to drink blood, the fear of sunlight, and undeath. Yes – vampires are dead. Dead as doornails.

The vampiric curse that possesses their bodies is the only thing that allows them to walk, talk and suck the human jugular like a straw. Being dead, they categorically, emphatically, positively cannot have children. The dead do not produce life. There just really isn’t any way around this.

Vampires reproduce by biting the heck out of people. Those that they don’t drink dry become vampires. It might be argued that they do all sorts of horrifically inappropriate things in their spare time, but none of it will ever result in a child. If you don’t believe me, retake biology.

Of course, Meyer’s vamp does have a child, but not just any child – a freakish child that somehow is half-vampire and grows at the speed of light. Which might make sense… if it didn’t totally not make any sense at all…

And then there’s the other, smaller ways that Edward commits travesties upon the Vampire legend. He can read your thoughts. He can run faster than Speedy Gonzalez. He has super strength. None of these things are strictly canon.

Worst of all, however, is his propensity to spontaneously strip off his shirt. Admittedly, he does this in the films more than in the book. I can say this authoritatively in spite of the fact that I have not seen the films – he appears shirtless in the previews for “New Moon” alone more often than in all the books combined.

He and some other character will be walking along, making small talk, discussing the deer they’ve recently eaten (instead of humans, like real vampires), and all of a sudden for no apparent reason he’ll strike an evocative pose, cue evocative techno music, and evocatively strip off his top.

It’s rather pathetic, really. Throughout history, male vampires have seduced women, but Dracula somehow managed it without flinging clothing in every direction at the bat of an eyelash.

If we’re honest, we’ll admit that the purpose of these films is to allow countless teenage women to ogle the roided-out pecs of semi-attractive men. They are an assault on all that is good in the world. Things like “good acting,” and “my eyes not bleeding.” Women, don’t fall for this carefully laid trap – Edward is not really a vampire.

The evidence is stacked against him. He sparkles. He doesn’t drink blood. He has a child. He has the powers of Superman. And clothing leaps voluntarily off of his body. He is not a vampire. He is Tinkerbelle’s mother-in-law.

And so, as the Twilight craze rages on, stand firm. Resist Edward’s emo-siren call. Turn away from his fake-vampire allure and read something that will enrich your life.

Like The Muse. Good choice.

Published: Tuesday, November 17, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

Welcome to The Muse, where you can come when you’re not sure what exactly you want out of your newspaper reading experience. Each week, I’ll deliver something off the wall/unexpected/totally bonkers up for your reading pleasure, and you can then write me scathing letters about how I’m contributing to the death of serious journalism.

When I first came to Whitworth University, I was impressed by its academic standards. The students were smart, the faculty factual, the studying studious and the alliterations atrocious.

However, as the years have flown by the seams have started to show. Where once there was harmony, the seedy underbelly of melody has revealed itself. Where once there was knowledge, the crafty misuse of terminology has grown dominant.

In one of the more disturbing and unsettling examples of this, it has come to my attention that there is a disagreement–nay, worse, a full-fledged debate–over the difference between the terms “Nerd” and “Geek.”

There is a grievous schism over the very epistemology of these terms. And thus, it has fallen to me to set the record straight.

I must make one important caveat: I am only addressing the male species in this column. I briefly considered talking about the female analogues to these two categories, but then I realized that it would inevitably be sexist and probably put my life in jeopardy.

Since I am but a man, I will not attempt to understand the confusing mess that is female social grouping.

We shall start with the more distasteful of the two: the Nerd.

The Nerd is fortunately less common on college campuses than he is in the halls of high school, but he still may be observed if one is diligent. The Nerd wears glasses–this is non-negotiable. These glasses must be disturbingly thick and are probably held together by duct tape. Quite often the Nerd is dressed in clothing of a single color, perhaps with stripes, and has hair that could pass convincingly for the nest of a Suessian bird of prey.

The Nerd rarely, if ever, engages in hygienic activities, preferring instead to spend shower time lawling the hours away in front of World of Warcrack, or perhaps painting a royal insignia on the power shield of a Space Marine Terminator captain.

For that is one of the defining characteristics of the Nerd: he is nerdy about something. It can be anything. You can have a tabletop game nerd; a video game nerd; a photography nerd; a collector-of-irritating-Hawaiian-shirts nerd. Nerds come in every shape and size, but they are all incredibly over-informed about some subject that a normal human being would never need to know about.

Normal humans have no desire to become nerds because of the second defining characteristic of the Nerd: he is socially awkward and often downright repugnant. No one wants to be seen with the Nerd; the Nerd, however, is OK with that because everyone else is basically a bottom-feeding plebe with no life, unable to rattle off the stats of a level 80 warlock from memory.

Standing in contrast to this pariah of humanity is the Geek. The Geek shares some things in common with the Nerd–they are both over-informed about some subject or other. There are math geeks, programming geeks, geeks who are really into cooking and nunchucks… the list goes on. The key difference between the Nerd and the Geek, however, is that women will voluntarily talk to them. Geeks may break into a sweat over the latest “Star Trek” comic book release, but they have the ability to hold a conversation about the weather without it turning into a commentary on the effects of storm clouds on zombies.

If you ever just sit around campus people watching, you can pick these people out. Most of the individuals you’ll see are just straight up normals. You’ll know the Nerds and Geeks when you see them.

The Nerds will be wearing their glasses, be dressed in solid brown, or perhaps yellow, somehow moving down the hello walk in a fetal position. There will be a wide bubble void of life surrounding them, as even squirrels don’t want to be seen with a Nerd. Hide behind your newspaper, because if this person comes up to you and starts talking you’ll be stuck in a never-ending conversation about the strengths and weaknesses of Jean-Luc Picard as a leader of men.

The Geeks, on the other hand, will be walking quickly, dressed in trendy fashion, typing away on their geek-device of choice (a Palm Pre or iPhone, probably) while holding a conversation with a beautiful girl.

Ultimately, it is the overarching goal of both the Nerd and the Geek to live life happily ever after with an attractive woman. It can be theorized, therefore, that Geeks are merely higher on the social evolutionary scale than Nerds, having risen above the level of female anathema that is Nerd-ness to something that chicks dig, like Michael Cera or Jim from “The Office.” Geeks know that it’s cool to be over-informed as long as they take showers now and again.

So, to you Nerds out there, take note. Comb your hair, get contacts, and try a deodorant other than Essence of Ork. It’ll do wonders for your social life, and you’ll have to carry about a +20 Stick of Warding at all times to keep back the waves of women begging you for a date.

At least, that’s what the Geeks keep promising me…

Published: Monday, October 26, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

Welcome to The Muse, where you can come when you’re not sure what exactly you want out of your newspaper reading experience. Each week, I’ll deliver something off the wall/unexpected/totally bonkers up for your reading pleasure, and you can then write me scathing letters about how I’m contributing to the death of serious journalism.

Look! Run to your windows! Get out your cameras! Call Grandma and all those children you may or may not have! It’s here!

What is happening, do you ask? Why are the people dancing in the streets? Is there a giant pinata in the Loop? Has Reagan returned to take back the presidency? Has B-Rob decided to stay?

No, no. I am, of course, referring to Windows 7. Yes! It was released last week! I don’t have it yet, but I just know that all of you out there who haven’t been writing me any “letters to the editor” are just saving up your efforts for “Christmas presents for the editor,” so I’m confident I’ll soon have my hands on the 7-fold goodness.

Having participated in the beta test (for you non-geeks out there, that means I got to use it before it was released), I can confidently say that 7 looks like a pretty slick deal, fixes a lot of the frustrations that Vista introduced to Windows users, and even borrows a few of the better ideas that Apple utilizes and makes them better.

Of course, this edition of The Muse is beginning to sound like a review for Windows 7, which it is not. My reviews are published in the Scene section (read them!). It is instead a commentary upon the sad state of humanity and of course, racism.

Now, I know there are a lot of you out there who use those arcane artifacts of dark side power known as “Macs.” They are also known as “Apples,” “Big iPods” and “Those silly things that Jerod doesn’t use.”

I’ve heard scuttlebutt that Mac users are already on the warpath against Windows 7, a scant five days after its release. Bleeding heart analogies about infanticide aside, this is just wrong. And not for the usual reasons. If you wanted usual reasons, you wouldn’t be reading this column.

It’s not wrong because Windows 7 is brand new and you Mac-ites haven’t given it a chance yet. It’s wrong because Macs are white.

In a time and place and culture and campus that is trying so hard to increase diversity, Apple sits on its high pedestal spewing forth its supremacist product. In a world where the PC market is actively promoting incredible amounts of equality with computers of every shape, size, color, configuration, price and complex combination of specifications imaginable, Apple refuses to enter the 21st century and be nice to people. And students are lapping it up!

I mentioned this to Taylor Zajicek, Whitworthian photo editor. He tried explaining some sort of jibberish about how Apple makes black Macs and colored iPods, but I did the right thing and punched him.

I mean honestly. Have you ever seen a yellow Mac? Shouldn’t we be outraged that Apple is blatantly discriminating against the entire population of China? And all those other Asian places? One of my roommates is from the Philippines, and I’m pretty sure that whenever I’m not in the room he breaks down in tears as he types away on his ivory Apple machine of condemnation.

And what about polka-dotted Macs? How do you think that makes heffalumps and people with chicken pox feel? According to the little man who lives in my finger and spits out accurate-sounding statistics, 98.6 percent of everyone is deeply offended over this issue.

My personal computer is a giant thing painted in metallic blue with gaudy blue lights and a big window in the side. I chose these elements in order to show that I’m not racist against certain species of beetles, or the aliens that I’m quite sure are going to rain down from the sky any day now.

Now that I’ve enlightened you all, you’re probably wondering where you can gather for a violent riot. Well, put down your pitchforks and douse your torches, because this technological racism stems from a source much closer to home than anyone realizes.
We could blame Steve Jobs for inventing iPods. We could blame Bill Gates for authorizing really lame commercials. But we know the truth, fellow students. We know that the problem goes much deeper.

Yes. You’ve guessed it. Apple is using iTunes to broadcast nefarious subliminal messaging, affecting the otherwise normal brains of hapless people across the nation. There really isn’t any other way to explain the fact that both Kanye West and Stephen Colbert have held first place on iTunes’ top sellers list.

I implore you, therefore, diverse students of Whitworth University, reject the evil empire. Don’t simply settle for wagging your finger at your Apple computer before you lovingly stroke its bright white keys. Get yourself a PC and a copy of Windows 7 before it’s too late for your soul. And remember to get me a copy for Christmas.

Published: Monday, October 19, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

Welcome to The Muse, where you can come when you’re not sure what exactly you want out of your newspaper reading experience. Each week, I’ll deliver something off the wall/unexpected/totally bonkers up for your reading pleasure, and you can then write me scathing letters about how I’m contributing to the death of serious journalism.

There’s a word that’s been kicked around the Whitworth campus for the last few semesters; a word for which there is no certain definition, but from which springs the secrets for a long, fulfilling life. Or so everyone is led to believe.

What is this word you ask? Sustainability. Has a ring to it, no?

Last year, some surveys went around campus to find out what students wanted the university to improve upon. One of the options on that survey was to “increase sustainability” (or some such shenanigans). I really had little concept of what any of the options would do for me as a student of Whitworth, but sustainability had a way of rolling off the tongue that made it feel important, so I shrugged and said “more of that would be nice, sure.”

I now regret this decision, as it has willfully stabbed me in the back. Honestly, I still have no idea what sustainability means. I’ve been told it’s something along the lines of “saving money” or “rescuing puppies,” but I find that a little hard to believe when I check my bank account and find neither extra cash nor grateful dachshunds waiting there to greet me.

I’m growing suspicious that it’s just another one of those nebulous political words that people in charge like to put into press releases in order to make their nefarious plans sound all nice and fuzzy, such as in this secret recording I stumbled upon:
“So I’m confused. Why are we giving Barack Obama the Nobel Prize, again?”
“Uh… tolerance… or perhaps sustainability… one of those words that nobody understands.”

“Brilliant!”

So, based on this and mountains of other evidence that I have lying around my huge office, we can safely assume that sustainability doesn’t actually have a real definition. Rather, it’s a word the authorities use whenever they want to take something away from us for no good reason. Like plates in the cafeteria that aren’t smaller than my hand. Or the Whitworth tree. Or my roommate’s bike. It’s all part of the same evil scheme.
However, I am nothing if not a party member, so I’ll hop onto this bandwagon with a few helpful suggestions.

In the interest of genuine sustainability, I posit that Sodexo should take real measures toward making this campus a place that will last well into the millennial kingdom. They should tackle problems such as ice–is ice really a sustainable resource? How long do you think the polar caps will last with all this ice cube mining? There are so many alternatives, like chilled plastic or frozen chunks of potatoes.

And then there’s longboards, a horrendously unsustainable resource if ever there was one. Anyone who’s owned a longboard knows that they only work as long as A) they aren’t broken, and B) they have wheels. Is that really realistic? I propose that Whitworth form a committee to explore the possibility of bringing Segways to campus to supplement and eventually replace the endangered longboards. Anyone’s who’s seen “Paul Blart: Mall Cop” knows that Segways are the absolute icing on the cake, and that they’re highly diverse. Er… sustainable. Yes, sustainable. That’s the word.

I hope that I’ve demonstrated to everyone that you don’t have to understand a word, concept, or issue to get behind it with all your heart. If we all band together, we, the ignorant masses, can help make our collegiate homeland a better place to subsist for many, many years to come. (Yes we can!)

Published: Monday, October 12, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

Oi! Wake up! The newspaper is here! Eat up every mouthful of naked truth, because you know it won’t come again until next week. Unless of course you visit the Web site where content is updated daily for your reading, thinking and irate-commenting pleasure.

Now that my shameless plug is out of the way, I want all of you “Star Wars” fans out there to sit up and take notice. I’m not just talking to diehards or to the uber-nerds who speak fluent Rodian. I’m talking to all of you who have any fondness for the “Star Wars” universe, or who used to before Mr. Lucas totally lost it and stabbed the franchise in the face with a laser beaver (don’t see the animated “Star Wars” movie, or you too will find yourself without a soul).

All of you Wookie lovers should know that there’s a rather interesting project being put together by a group of particularly crazy fans of the movies. They’re calling it “Star Wars: Uncut,” and it’s essentially a remake of the original “Star Wars” movie, “A New Hope.” Basically, you go to the site, lay claim to a 15-second clip of the movie, film it however you want (people have done live action, clay-mation, computer animation and everything in between), and then submit it for approval. Once every scene has been turned in, the masterminds behind the project will cobble them all together and release it upon the masses. Check out the site; they have a trailer up for the project already.

I’m planning on shooting several scenes using the faculty of this fine university. I haven’t actually spoken to any of them about this yet, but when I show up with the film crew and candy bars, I don’t see how they’ll be able to say no. Han Solo will be portrayed with subtlety and emotion by professor of communications Alan Mikkelson, who will never be seen without his faithful Wookie enforcer Chewbacca, played by Dr. Forrest Baird of the philosophy department (I’ll bet you $100 he does a fantastic Wookie call).

ASWU President Michael Harri will play Luke Skywalker, with his boyish good looks and mastery of the Force (how did you think he won the election?). I’m still trying to decide on who to cast as Princess Leia though. It’s a toss-up between Dr. Kathy Storm and Karin Heller of the theology department.

Darth Vader will naturally by played by communications professor Ron Pyle (I’m experimenting with anti-typecasting). Mike Ingram, also a professor of communications, will play Obi-Wan Kenobi, utilizing his sagely wisdom and timeless advice for the part (there’s perks to being the director’s academic adviser).

The Death Star might pose a bit of a logistical problem, given that it’s as big as the moon. I’m relatively certain that Sodexo still has all those trays they confiscated from us last year, though, and I’m confident that if I melt them down and toss in a bucket of gun-metal gray paint, it’ll turn out all right. I don’t have a special effects budget, so in my version of the film the Death Star won’t laser-blast planets from space, but will instead roll over Weyerhaeuser Hall at Pyle’s dark command.

Professor of communications Jim McPherson will fill the role of Darth Maul. Technically, Darth Maul didn’t appear in the original trilogy, but as one of the only bright points in the “new trilogy” (aka, “The trilogy that shall not be named”), I feel that he should be given homage in my film. The thought of McPherson with a double-bladed lightsaber regularly keeps me up at night, so he’s really the only choice.

The Emperor is probably the biggest challenge I’m still facing. President Bill Robinson was my first instinct, being a charismatic leaderly type, but he’s leaving next year and that would make the inevitable sequel difficult. Also on the short list is Morgan Feddes, editor-in-chief of The Whitworthian. Unless you’ve been here at 1 a.m. Monday morning finishing production on the newspaper, you won’t know how appropriate that type-cast would be.

Now that I think about it, it would be a shame to limit the potential of a cast like this on a few 15-second clips, so the best course of action will be to reshoot the entire series.

This is where I start wishing Whitworth offered a film production major. Maybe Vader can do something about that…

Published: Monday, October 5, 2009 in The Whitworthian.
Students, take a moment out of your busy schedules, right this instant, to congratulate yourselves. You’ve made it through another week. You’ve successfully dodged both dive-bombing swine flu viruses and textbooks hurled by frustrated roommates. Perhaps you’ve emerged from your first exams, battered and bruised but still alive and kicking. Hopefully you’ve been able to navigate the world of romance with enough still to have put off that inevitable define-the-relationship talk (just remember that you can run, but you can’t hide).

Chances are high that you’ve all been going through your days and weeks this year without realizing that 2009 marks the 50th anniversary of that hallmark of American television culture: “The Twilight Zone.” It’s true. ’Twas 1959 when Rod Serling’s masterpiece first aired, and it has been messing with our minds ever since. Not only has “The Twilight Zone” given us an awkward little tune to whistle whenever things get weird, it has also given us a great ride at the Disney theme parks and something we can watch on the SyFy channel without feeling like our souls are slowly dying. If you’ve never sat down to watch an episode of the Zone, do yourself a favor and go dig up an episode from someplace. It’s a little ridiculous how much modern science-fiction, and pop culture in general, owes to this show.

You might have also noticed that Chicago was recently dealt a blow to its confidence by the International Olympic Committee. Out of the group of 2016 Olympic hopefuls (Madrid, Tokyo, Chicago and Rio de Janeiro), the Windy City was the first to get knocked out of the running. Many people are pointing the finger at our border policies, saying that getting through security is an “ordeal” or some such shenanigans.

Personally, I think it’s a good thing in the long run. The longer the U.S. goes without an Olympic games within its borders, the greater the odds that Spokane will be chosen to host them.

Think about it. Not only could you tell your eager grandchildren that you not only attended Whitworth, the nation’s most prestigious university (patent pending), but you also went to said university in an Olympic city. So, I’ve compiled a list of compelling reasons for Spokane to make a run for the Olympic games.

The World’s Fair was here in 1974, making Spokane basically a pro at huge international gatherings. The theme was “Celebrating Tomorrow’s Fresh New Environment,” which is probably where Whitworth got its current green obsession. The site was transformed into Riverfront Park, which also happens to host Hoopfest every year, the world’s largest 3-on-3 basketball tournament. Clearly, Spokane is primed and ready for this.

Spokane has four (count ‘em, four) seasons. We are not California with its eternal summers, nor are we Nome with its lush permafrost lawns. We have blazing hot summers and freezing cold winters. This, naturally, makes us a candidate for either the winter or the summer games. Or both. Both would be cool.

Hosting the Olympic games would probably convince whoever is in charge of road construction in this area to get their rear in gear and just get it all done in one fell swoop. Yes, a month or two of having to walk everywhere would be a drag, but closing all the streets in the greater Spokane area for a summer face-lifting would be preferable to the perennial guessing game of “Which street do I have to avoid this month?” that our city officials apparently enjoy so very much.

If we really put the marketing into it, there’s a chance we could boost Spokane’s population a little and finally have a chance to beat Seattle in some election sometime. Maybe.

It would massively boost our economy, if the police department plays its cards right. If we were very careful to not publicize our “no cell phones while driving” law, the sheer amount of money we could make off of unsuspecting Europeans jabbering away on their stylish phones while swerving around herds of deer on Division Street is simply staggering.

Spokane, with its proximity to so many of Washington’s finest agricultural establishments, would probably be the birthplace of new Olympic sports. You can’t look me in the eye and tell me you wouldn’t pay to watch Olympic Cow Tipping or Olympic Pinecone Catching. Whitworth students could probably make a united effort and get Ultimate Frisbee added to the roster.

Now that I’ve convinced you all of the utter legit-ness of this idea, I want you to join me in a mass mailing effort to convince our fine leaders to make this happen. On Oct. 10, everyone get out a piece of paper and an envelope and write a letter to an elected Spokane official (any of them will do) and demand a run for the Olympics. Your grandchildren will thank you.

Published: Monday, September 28, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

So I was doing homework that was probably due a week ago or something when I suddenly started having a conversation with myself.

“Self,” I said, correctly referring to myself in the second person, “you have no reason to do this homework. You should be owning video games or spending ridiculous amounts of money on eBay right now.”

I had no comeback for this. As is often the case when I find myself losing an argument, I turned some death-metal-screamo up to 11 and began quoting Muhammad Ali at the top of my lungs.

The truth is, students don’t really have any motivation to actually do homework. I mean, sure, a professor can give you a “bad grade,” but what is that really? Just like all that general education homework back in high school, are grades really going to affect your life that much? Your adviser will probably prattle on about “jobs” or some ridiculous bunk like that, but the truth of the matter is he or she is just telling you that because she or he doesn’t have the power to use more persuasive forms of persuasion.
In a rare burst of generosity, I’m going to offer the faculty of this fine university a way out of this predicament. I can sum it up in one word:
Bricks.

That’s right. Bricks. Not only are bricks heavy and brutally painful when thrown at high velocity, they also share the first three letters with the word “brilliant.” Which is what they are: pure brilliance.

Think about it, professors. Sure, you could make that rebellious freshman rewrite his paper, but is that really going to drive home the important point you’re trying to make about life and how awesome it is to be in a position of power? No. The sad truth is, it will not. So, if merely making him rewrite that paper won’t do it, perhaps making him rewrite the paper while you chuck bricks in his general direction will, eh?

Yeah, you know I’m on to something. Picture the scene. You, standing in front of the class, just waiting for someone to make your day and fall asleep in the back row. Your TA bowing and scraping as she drags in another cart of ammunition harvested from the crumbling walls of Warren Hall. Every student paying you absolute attention, hanging on your every word, knowing that if they cannot instantly repeat your last three sentences verbatim upon request, they’ll be getting a face-full of quarry fruit.

Now, I know there will probably be some who will object to this new plan. I suspect, however, that the solution to that lies once more in the liberal application of fire-hardened cubic chunks of sandstone.

Extrapolating upon this theory, one could easily imagine other scenarios where this genius plan might prove useful. With a little imagination, one could envision a world without need of roommate agreements (thud!), hall bathrooms where no one dares to leave food in the garbage can (smack!), peaceful libraries where talking loudly is spoken of only in hushed whispers (crash!), road trips where that one guy with all the long, annoying stories you’ve heard a thousand times already doesn’t say a single word for the duration of the trip (crunch!), and the list goes on.

Of course, I now realize that bricks are also a pretty good way to talk yourself into the job of your dreams (bam!). Which, sadly, shoots the foot straight off of my idea for encouraging students to get better grades.

“Self, you’ve done it again. You’ve gone and talked yourself straight out of genius.”
Oh, well. Time to crank the death metal.

Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee!
(smash!)

Published: Monday, September 21, 2009 in The Whitworthian.

Welcome to The Muse, where you can come when you’re not sure what exactly you want out of your newspaper reading experience. Each week I will deliver something off the wall/unexpected/totally bonkers up for your reading pleasure, and you can then write me scathing letters about contributing to the death of serious journalism.

It’s the beginning of another year here at Whitworth, if you didn’t know. It’s an event that used to strike me as a tragedy, because I would no longer have any time to do anything fun. I vaguely remember long summers filled with blissful emptiness. Freshmen, you might still have one more of those summers to look forward to. After that, that nasty thing called the real world begins to sink its claws into your life. If you’re feeling like you have spare time right now, value every second of it because it will inevitably betray and abandon you like a rabid Old Yeller. On the other hand, if you’re already feeling overwhelmed, count yourself lucky because you’ll get used to it quicker. The sooner you can callous over your free spirit, the sooner you’ll be able to move on with your life and get good grades and stuff.

Things are hopping in the world of strange news. ITWire.com is reporting on a developing story in Sacramento, Calif., where a trial is being held to determine the role of a radio station, KDND-FM, in connection with the death of a woman. The woman apparently died while participating in a contest which required her to imbibe copious amounts of H2O while at the same time not disposing of said H2O post-digestion in order to win a Nintendo Wii (pun time!).

That would make the story odd enough, but now one of the lawyers working the case wants jurors to sign a form promising (crossing their hearts and hoping to die) that they won’t use their iPhones, Blackberries, Pres, and other assorted mobile devices to access Google. Jurors, of course, are bound by law to not discuss the details of court cases with outside sources, and to not view outside news sources which might sway their opinions. Apparently convenience is winning out over the honor system. Personally, I think it’s just the next step in Google’s slow but inevitable march toward taking over the world.

On the other side of the country, Popular Science brings us a story of a New York school whose curriculum is based entirely around games – video games and board games, specifically. A group of sixth graders will get to test drive the new program and spend their school days playing Spore and Little Big Planet. Supposedly it’s quite structured and the lucky kiddies will actually be getting an education in there somewhere, but it all sounds more like a nefarious attempt to make college students jealous of sixth graders. I know it’s working in my case. I’d take Core 150 every semester if I got to play Western Civilization instead of just reading about it in a bunch of dusty ol’ fashioned books.

So there you have it. A dose of oddball to brighten your day. Cherish it – exams will soon push all the nonsense from your mind.